All the Things We Did
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: A missing scene from the end of Skyfall (SPOILERS): at M's funeral a conversation with Gareth Mallory makes Bond remember some of the times he shared with M.
1. Chapter 1

**I'd better say before I get going that there are spoilers for Skyfall here.**

**I am very grateful for all of the feedback that people have given for my other storied and I'm so pleased that you seem to like what I'm writing for these two. So now I'm taking it down a more experimental line: this is an extended conversation between Bond and Mallory at M's funeral which prompts Bond to remember some of his more powerful memories of M. In each chapter there is a piece of the conversation and a flashback. I really hope you like it. **

"**Baby I remember all the things we did,**

**When we slept together and the blue behind your eyelids,**

**Baby, sweet baby."- Lucinda Williams**

"Bond."

He could not pretend to have not heard the voice behind him- his name had been spoke clearly enough and the church was completely quiet now, and almost entirely still- unless he wanted to be declared unfit for duty again on the grounds of impaired hearing. Nevertheless, he took another second, kneeling on one of those horrendously inefficient knee cushions, his elbows resting on the wooden frame in front of the pew. He did not take his eyes off her coffin until the last possible moment, as he stood up to look at reluctantly at Gareth Mallory.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked, not troubling too much to sound polite.

Mallory looked confused for a moment.

"You were at the funeral."

"That was two hours ago," he replied, sounding more sharp than cold, but still cold nevertheless, "How did you know I'd come back?"

"I threatened Moneypenny with the sack if she didn't tell me where you were."

Bond wished he could be annoyed with her for putting her foot in it again, but he found he couldn't. Mallory would have probably found him anyway. He was always going to try to find him at his weakest, to try to make him talk about what had gone on at Skyfall. Yes, just now, straight after M's funeral he was probably at his weakest; but he was damned if he was going to pour his heart out to Gareth Mallory, whatever the circumstances.

Wearily, he sank back down into the wooden pew, in no mood to stand up ceremony. It cause him a pang of irritation when the other man joined him. He knew that really he should be grateful to Mallory; without his quick intervention M would have been killed in that courtroom, and Silva would have had the satisfaction of having done it personally. But just at the moment Bond didn't feel like being grateful, he didn't feel like he could be grateful to anyone. He felt raw and bereft.

They each sat in silence, their eyes in different directions; Mallory's flitting around the body of the small church, taking in the brightly coloured glass windows, the arches of the ceiling, Bond's settling once again on the end of the coffin, unable to budge.

"She chose a beautiful place," Mallory remarked at last.

Bond said nothing, there was nothing to say. Not once had they ever talked about where either of them would like to be buried, but he had always known that M would have chosen somewhere so beautiful. She had always had the knack of beauty, of finding beauty, even inadvertently. That was just what she did.

…**...**

"Nice to stand out from the crowd, isn't it?" he smirked down at her irritated face, handing her a flute of champagne by way of recompense.

She took the drink and scowled back.

"Don't you dare, Bond," she told him irritably, "Or I'll have to have you killed as well as Tanner."

"What's poor Tanner done?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Don't joke around, Bond, I'm not in the mood for it," she told him bluntly, "He's supposed to keep my diary organised, which includes at least sparing a glance for any invitations I receive. Imagine not telling me that the Home Office Christmas Ball invitation specified a black and white dress code. I've never been more embarrassed in my entire life."

"I can hardly believe that," he told her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, perhaps not quite," she admitted begrudgingly, "But nevertheless... I've had the Foreign Secretary's wife- yes, the fat one with the annoying laugh- asking me if I'm having trouble with my sight."

"Well, Tanner probably thought you'd be wearing black anyway," he told her, "You usually are."

She had been, anyway, since her husband died. Suddenly, meeting her eyes briefly, he felt like a prize idiot. For a moment, she looked almost sad, but then she smiled quite sarcastically at him.

"Are you casting aspersions about my choice of clothes, 007?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"No," he replied truthfully, with conviction even, "You look lovely."

And she did. She stood out from every black or white dress in the room with a vibrant, floor-length deep red dress, which hugged her waist and her bosom softly, with sleeves that reached her elbows. At his remark, she tilted her head and did not blush.

"I'd like to think that one day, Bond, you take me completely seriously," she told him shortly.

He was genuinely shocked for a few seconds, and when it looked as if she was about to turn away from him, he reached out and grabbed ahold of her wrist, preventing her from moving. She looked up at him in some silent confusion, startled by the intense look on his face. They were both silent for a moment, at the edge of the quiet lobby outside the main function room.

"I was just going to get rid of my glass," she told him softly, not sounding at all irritated, as he had expected.

"Allow me," he told her, taking it from her and placing it on a spare silver tray on the mantelpiece. He felt the cool of the glass against his fingers slide into the cool of her palm as their hands brushed.

For a moment he stayed by the empty fireplace, resting his hand on the white-painted woodwork. In the mirror which hung over it, he could just see M watching the back of his head. He did not know how else to say it; he had never seen her look that interested in him before.

It seemed that they- two people who never had a problem voicing there opinions- were each waiting for the other to speak. He had started off by winding her up, and now he had quite earnestly called her lovely. And grabbed her. He saw her smoothing her other hand a little gingerly around her wrist and realised he must have done it quite hard.

Slowly, he turned to face her.

"I'm sorry about-..." he nodded towards her wrist.

"It doesn't matter," she replied softly, "I've had worse. And not always from men as well intentioned as I think you were being then, Bond, however bungling."

He smiled at her.

"I think that's the first time that anyone's ever described me as well-intentioned," he told her.

"Inferring that someone beat me to bungling," she finished smartly.

"Would you like to go and have a dance?" he asked her, nodding to the door behind her, from where music was still issuing.

"So you can bungle around with me some more?" she enquired.

"So I can make amends," he corrected, offering her his hand.

She paused for a second.

"I hope I don't live to regret this, Bond, or you'll be for the high jump again," she told him sternly.

He smiled at her as she took his had, more timidly than reluctantly. Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss into the inside of the wrist he had grabbed. He heard not quite an intake, but a stutter of her breath before he looked up to meet her eyes. She was smiling wanly, with none of her usual composure. He had fluttered her.

"I promise you," he replied, leading her away, still holding her gaze over his shoulder, "You won't."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you very much for your review so far. I'm very please you're enjoying this; it's very fun to write. **

Mallory hummed rather awkwardly, obviously not appreciating the truth of the observation.

"Yes," he agreed, sounding cold and detached, hiding his confusion, "Quite. I always thought, even before I knew her to work with, that she was a woman of elegance."

Bond sniffed at this; the understatement of the century.

They were quiet for a few moments, each watching in there separate directions. Bond now clasped his hands together, drawing his eyes away from the coffin at last, examining his fingernails and the wood of the pew in front of them. It was the same sort, exactly the same down to the varnish as the coffin. He couldn't look at that any more, he didn't want to; so he watched the light come teaming in gold and green bars through the coloured glass of the church windows.

"Did you have the chance to speak to her family?" Mallory asked him.

He looked at him in some puzzlement.

"Today?" Mallory elaborated, "Her son and her daughter were both here with their children."

"No," he replied shortly, "I don't officially exist, remember? It doesn't make the best introduction, especially at funerals."

Mallory nodded silently.

"They're very young, of course," he continued, "The children. Too young to really grasp what was going on. Except the oldest girl, perhaps. She looked very sad. And she didn't seem to like me very much."

That, if anything, threatened to bring a smile to Bond's lips.

"Her name is Vivienne," he supplied.

Mallory looked surprised.

"Did M ever talk about her?" he asked after a moment, "Or any of the others?"

"You know it's bad practice," Bond told him, "She'd be putting them at risk if she did."

Mallory smiled humourlessly.

"You and I both know that's not the same question," Mallory told him, "If everything M16 operatives or their commanders did was good practice, well, then there'd scarcely be any need for this conversation."

Bond stiffened. So he had been right, Mallory was trying to find out things about M for official purposes. Most probably, he was trying to find out things about his relationship with M.

Mallory was quiet, clearly waiting for his previous question to be answered.

"She never talked about them for very long," Bond told him, "She would have seen it as unprofessional."

Take that for good practice, he thought furiously.

…**...**

"It's very nice of you to offer to wait for the car with me, Bond," she told him.

"Don't worry, I don't want a lift home," he told her.

"I didn't suggest that you did!" she told him, pretending to be shocked, but she laughed at him as well.

"I had to, if Tanner's not here."

"Yes, he's indisposed," she told him, "I think he had too much to drink."

"You ought to fire that man," Bond told her lightly, "First the dress, and now this."

"Yes, I ought to," she agreed, "But I'm fond of him."

"You threatened to have him shot earlier," he reminded her, "I'm glad you aren't fond of me."

"I threatened to have you shot too, as I recall," she pointed out.

"But you wouldn't," he told her, "Or else you'd be without assistance now."

"My bodyguard's behind that pillar," she told him, nodding towards it, "And I hope he isn't finding you as chirpy as I am, or you will be in trouble."

"It seems I'm at the mercy of the most beautiful woman in London, then," he told her, not going quite as far as flashing her a wink, but only just thinking better of it in time.

"Flattery only gets you anywhere when it's believable," she told him, "And I'm not gullible, no matter what you think."

"Worth a try, though," he told her.

"Quite possibly," she replied dismissively, "Anyway, let's not talk about things like that. I had Mrs. Home Office telling me that she liked the cut of my dress, "wasn't it a brave thing to wear?", which in woman-code, Bond, means sluttish. I'm sure someone else told me that the colour made me look peaky."

"Was that a woman too?" Bond asked.

"Do you know, I think it was?" she told him, "You know, all of these politicians' wives, they're all such bitches, aren't they?"

"Yes," he nodded, rolling his eyes slightly, "You finally catch on."

She looked at him sharply.

"I'm not the one who's slept with half of them," she pointed out, "Or so says your reputation."

"If I'd made a rule of only sleeping with nice women I would have no reputation to keep up," he told her.

She snorted, smiling in spite of herself.

"Anyway," she continued after a moment, "It wasn't just the women who were unflattering. Well, perhaps they were the only ones trying to be. My old friend Wally, poor soul, he works in the Cabinet Office, he's known our family for years. He told me I looked like my daughter this evening."

"You do," Bond agreed without thinking about it.

She froze. There was a silence for a moment.

"You've read my file?" she asked, mildly interested in spite of the fact that she should have been and wanted to be furious with him. It was the only explanation. He did not reply. "You shouldn't have," she pointed out, unnecessarily.

"It shouldn't have been so badly encrypted," he pointed out.

She cast him a wary look.

"Anyway," she continued, "I don't know why men seem to think it's a compliment to compare one to one's daughter. Fair enough, she is younger, but it makes one feel as if one's been rather... replaced. Surpassed by the next model. It's not a nice feeling, that's all."

"And you don't like your daughter."

Her eyes turned sharp for a second, then thoughtful.

"I'm not sure it's so much a simple case of dislike," she told him, "I have to love her, she's my daughter. But she's been forever trying to outdo me, and I suppose now she's finally succeeded. She's very beautiful in the conventional way, she took her looks from her father's side."

He opened his mouth briefly, but she cut him off.

"Thank you, Bond," she told him smartly, "But I should hope there's nothing conventional about me."

There was a pause. He smiled at her.

"No, Ma'am," he agreed, "Nothing at all."

"But my granddaughter," her smile widened, becoming quite genuine, "You'll know from your reading that I have a granddaughter now, Bond."

"Yes," he replied. It was difficult to think of her as a grandmother, he thought, "Called Vivienne."

She cast him a look, and seemed to decided that as he knew so much already, she might as well go on talking.

"Don't you think it's a bit of a serious name for a child? I told Sarah when she was born, and all she did was tell me in this wise voice, "Children grow up, Mother," as if I didn't know, as if she herself wasn't my own child with her child in her arms. So I didn't say any more and the little girl ended up with that dreadful old maid name. But I call her Vivie. Her mother doesn't like it, but I don't care. It suits her."

She looked quite in her own little world, talking away about her granddaughter. It made him realise that she had a whole side to her life of which he had had no idea, this was his first glimpse of it. He felt vaguely lonely for a moment.

"I think your daughter is lucky to be compared to you," he told her.

She looked at him very seriously.

"Thank you, Bond. That means a lot, coming from you," she told him.

He bent down, leaning his hand gently on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Her face was very warm against the cold air, and she smelt sweet with a hint of flowers from her perfume, nothing too extravagant. To his surprise, he felt one of her hands rest delicately against his chest.

"I think your car's here," he told her, "Straightening up."

"It's about time," she remarked, letting him hold the door open for her.

Just as he was about to close the door for her, she put her had on the door to stop him. It surprised him, it was almost timidly done, and did not seem to match her very much.

"Bond, have a lift home, would you?" she asked.

He grinned, closing the door and getting in to the other door of the car.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	3. Chapter 3

The line of Mallory's mouth hardened a little.

"She made a great show of her professionalism, didn't she?" he reflected, probably not expecting an answer.

"I'm not sure I like the word show," Bond replied stonily, "It implies a superficiality."

Mallory appeared equally unmoved.

"It was intended to."

Bond felt the lines of his own face tighten this time, but he did not snap. He knew he couldn't. An outburst of temper would only assure Mallory that he was pursuing the correct line of enquiry by delving into M's history, and her personal affairs. Of course, he thought, Mallory could have made this so much easier for himself. Any other member of her staff might have been willing after a few soft pushes or a promise of promotion to deliver most relevant information about M without any reservations. But choosing to try and extract this information from him, Bond thought, said quite a lot about Mallory's character. Either he wanted the most personal information about M that he could get his hands on, or there was some kind of pleasure for him in wringing the secrets out of the one person who was most unwilling to yield them.

"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead," Bond stated flatly, not caring if it was rude of him, quite intending to point out to Mallory that he had lost his manners.

Mallory sniffed quite carelessly.

"Your loyalty is touching," he replied coldly. Then, pausing for a moment, "But then you were very close, weren't you?"

James knew where this was going, exactly where it was going, inevitably, with nothing he could do to stop it except refuse to respond to Mallory's first question.

Mallory went on anyway, and asked the question Bond had been expecting.

"Did you sleep together?"

James felt his fist clench uncontrollably tighter.

"Saving for the reverence of the setting, go to hell, Mallory," he told him, not caring if it cost him his job.

A second later what worried him the most was that Mallory was taking that as a yes. No matter what he personally wanted to say to him, he knew he had to defend M's reputation. Regardless of the truth.

"We never did," he practically spat, "We were never together like that. Besides it being completely against her standards, what she considered to be decent; she was devoted to the memory of her husband."

Mallory actually snorted, Bond cursing the fact that he had all kinds of diplomatic and government protection.

"Are you trying to be ironic, Bond?" he asked him, half sternly, "I'm sorry. I know these are matters of some delicacy and that is why I, who knew M, have been appointed to handle her affairs. There will be no detailed reports, my brief is simply to ensure that we have no surprises to jump out at us later down the line: no rogue agents, no loose cannons, nothing like that."

"Are you implying that there is a suspicion that she was a traitor?" James asked, after a moment.

"No," Mallory replied, "Only that we know that she was... close to certain individuals who remain members of the Service. We don't want her death to cause any bitterness which could cause problems later on. That's all."

Bond had listened to enough of this rubbish; he stood up swiftly and left the church by the back door, not looking back to see Mallory's reaction.

…**...**

He got a lift, but not to his place. Hers was nearer and the driver called there first.

"Would you like to come in for a nightcap?" she asked him, "Or would you rather I asked Jones to drive you home? I only ask because I know you're fond of my single malt."

Smirking a little, because he knew she was too, he followed her out of the car, closing the door behind them. She opened the front door smartly, shutting it with a snap once he was over the threshold. The lights came on very softly at first, fading up so that it was not too bright; it was a very nice touch. Both of them knew where everything was, even in the half light, and she put her clutch bag and keys down on the table as he stood by, watching the outline of her face become firmer as the light grew stronger. Her head was bowed, arranging her things, and she looked quite strikingly beautiful as the soft orange light grew against her red dress, her white hair.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. That is until she lifted her head, and turned almost sharply to look at him; catching him out as he watched her.

"What are you thinking, Bond?" she asked, not as harshly as he had expected, much more curiously.

"I'm thinking that it's strange to be allowed in through the front door," he replied, not entirely telling the truth.

The corners of her mouth pushed out into more of a smile.

"Pleasantly so?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Will you get the drinks, Bond?" she asked him, sitting down on the settee, "I'm going to have to take these shoes off."

He didn't know what made him try his luck at that moment only that the opportunity seemed to present itself so suddenly and so readily.

"If you like," he told her, "Or we could forget about the drinks, and I'll take your shoes off for you."

She looked at him quite sternly, scrutinising him, and one glance was enough to tell her his entire meaning. For a moment they were both very quiet, neither of them making a more for better or for worse, both just looking at each other.

"I don't know what was on your mind when you invited me in," he told her, "But I know what was on mine when I accepted."

"You're a child, Bond," she told him, more sharply now, "You know that you're the same age as my daughter."

"You're beautiful," he told her in reply, hoping that he made his disregard for her previous argument plain enough, "You were the most beautiful woman in the room at that bloody party, in that bloody red dress, making every other woman look ordinary. I've wanted you before, but never like this."

He took a few faltering steps forward, made shy by the fact that she had not accepted him instantly. He had not really expected her to, but he had to admit that it was a rarity. He wondered if it was just surprise or if she genuinely wasn't interested; either way she had said nothing definite.

"You work for me."

He sank to his knees before where she sat, reaching out, touching her knees softly where her dress split and revealed them.

"Is there a genuine reason that you don't want me?" he asked her, "Or are you just going to keep churning out these official lines?"

Her eyes weighed shut for a moment, her hands wandering hazily to rest on top of his; not to stop him so much as to steady him.

"Bond," she told him, with a definite waver in her voice, "I haven't been with anyone since my husband died."

"And you want-..." he tried to help her along.

"No," she replied, "It's nothing like that. We agreed when we knew he was ill; he didn't want to hold me back once he was gone. Don't worry about my memory, he said, just be happy. Everything will take care of itself so long as you're happy."

James waited for her to go on, flicking his thumb in a soft caress along the curve of her kneecap.

"What, then?" he asked her, "You just don't want to?"

"No, James," she bent forward, cupping his face, kissing his forehead, his nose, his lips, each once, then breaking away, "I want to. But it's this whole being happy thing. I don't think, if we make love now, I'll be able to let you go easily. It's not like when I was younger, I can't do this quick fuck and then bugger off that young people seem to be completely content with. And I know you won't want to stay for long, not with me."

He pulled her face down to his again, kissing her lips hungrily but trying to be as gentle as possible. He heard her moan against his mouth.

"How do you know I won't want to stay?" he asked her, their faces resting together and his arms wandering around her.

She did not say anything for a moment, but he heard her heavy breathing against his ear, he could hear her thinking.

She pulled back a little to look at him, her hand holding the back of his head.

"I never thought you...- Oh, James."

Her hand shaking a little, it padded softly along the side of his face until her fingers rested on his lips. Then, she let them fall to his neck and she kissed him hard.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone, thank you for your reviews and follows so far. Happy Christmas!**

He knew Mallory would follow him out of the church, but he was determined to make awkward for him when he did come to find him so he paced as quickly as he could to the far wall of the churchyard, his anger stamped into his long strides. He leant against the stonework, not feeling so much weak as unbelievably tired, waiting for the inevitable sound of Mallory's voice to issue from over his shoulder. It arrived sooner than he had expected, flat and rather dry.

"There was no need to go marching out, Bond."

James felt himself wheeling around to face him, feeling the wall give a little with the pressure he applied. He knew it was not in his best interests to lose his temper, but with equal certainty he knew that he had lost it, and therefore there was little he could do.

"You just don't get it, do you?" he asked, his voice low, but still furious, "None of you who demand enquires into people's lives get it."

"What don't we get?" Mallory asked patiently.

It occurred to him that this was exactly what Mallory wanted, for him to snap and spill out all of their secrets. His anger alone had probably told him all that he needed to know, if he had the brains to deduce it.

"She's dead," he told him shortly, his disgust undisguised, "Leave her alone."

Mallory let out a sigh.

"If you'd listened to me, Bond, you would realise that it's because she's dead that we have to get involved in this sorry business."

"To be involved in her life wasn't a sorry business," James retorted, "It was a bloody privilege."

It was too. Every minute of it.

"No doubt," Mallory replied, sounding decidedly dubious, "And you must see that because you felt that way, because you were close to her, that is a cause of some concern to us. Especially now that she's dead."

"That's what you don't get," James told him simply, "All the words you're using Mallory, closeness, involved, they don't even come close. You think that everything your agents do is governed by self-centred greed and the want to be powerful. Well, I dare say quite a bit of it is, but not all. We're still human beings, for Christ's sake. If it was any of your fucking business, I'd tell you that I loved her."

There was a silence for a few moments, apart from the wind blowing over the long grass outside the churchyard wall. Bond turned away again, watching the air ripple through the blades. Then the church clock struck the hour, and neither of them could speak without raising their voices to be heard. As it rang out it's final chime, he heard Mallory's voice again.

"So you're telling me that you loved her but you never slept together? Forgive me, but it sounds unlikely for normal human beings, never mind a double 0 and his commander."

It was a cheap jibe and James suspected that Mallory knew it himself. That was why, without a hint of guilt or even of concern for the repercussions it might have, he replied:

"I'm telling you nothing more. She deserves to take something to the grave with her."

…**...**

"Bond," she whispered after a while.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Can we at least make it to my bed? Or put the light off?"

He leant back a little, his hand wrapped around her and resting on the small of her spine while the other brushed softly against her face.

"They're funny things to ask," he told her, smiling a little.

She looked puzzled.

"Not particularly," she asserted, "I can promise you, my bed's more comfortable than this sofa and by the time you're my age you'll probably feel better with the light out."

"I doubt it," he told her smoothly, dipping his head to kiss her neck above the quite generous neckline of her dress, "Not if I age as well as you have."

He continued kissing her neck, dipping down to the top of her breasts, until she was nicely distracted and then he broke away.

"I mean they're odd things to ask together," he continued, pleased with the disgruntlement on her face at the absence of his lips, "Bed or light, as if it's one or the other. Usually things have to achieve the same purpose to be discussed like that."

He felt her whole body sigh.

"Bond, believe it or not I'm not in the mood to discuss logical propositions. Perhaps kissing you has addled my reasoning."

"And your observation," he replied, "It's me doing most of the kissing."

"Bloody cheek," she pulled him to her for a kiss that was almost akin to a bite.

He knew she felt him shudder as he responded, partly with mirth at her wit, partly with the effect that her kissing him like that for a long time, for any period of time, had on him.

"So are you going to take me to bed, Bond?" she asked him, "Or is the prevaricative pedancy some kind of seduction technique?"

"Don't ask me," he told her, "It's you I copied it from."

"Bond," she laughed, lightly boxing his shoulder with her fist as his arms tightened around her again, "James."

His lips sank back down against hers, and he saw her eyes flutter closed again as she opened her mouth to allow him better access. His hands roamed over the smooth cloth on her back, trying to find the top of the zip.

"Take me to bed," she whispered before he got the chance, "Now."

He watched her for a moment, her closed eyes, her swollen lips, the wild quirk that his hands had given her short hair. Her eyes slipped open, and she watched him rather accusingly, and he was met with the dark, aroused blue that had been hiding silently behind her eyelids.

"You said you wanted me," she reminded him pointedly.

It was only then that he fully realised that she had wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. He ran a hand admiringly up her side, cupping her breast as he did so.

"So I did," he replied, untangling himself from her, and standing up, helping her to her feet and not letting go of her hand.

He didn't let go of her hand until they were in her room and they had shut the door. Cupping her face with one hand and her breast with the other, he sank his lips back into herself.

"James," she told him gently as they broke away for a moment, "James, darling. Put the light out."

He didn't do as he was told straight away.

"I had hoped, having brought you to your bed, that we could dispense with that."

He felt her stiffen, only slightly, against him.

"James-..." she murmured in warning.

"You're beautiful," he whispered in her ear, gently biting the lobe.

"How would you know?" she asked him.

His hand had slipped under the low back of her dress, guiding the zip down.

"I know," he assured her, "And I want to see you."

When she did not protest any further, he slipped his hands under the fabric, easing it away from her skin.

"See," he told her, leaning down before her to kiss her navel as the fabric fell away, "Beautiful."

Their eyes met as he looked up and she looked down.

"Oh, James," she whispered, brushing her hand through his hair.

Slowly, he nuzzled her through the red silk of her knickers.

"Let me do this for you," he asked, hearing her gasp in surprise and then moan as he briefly kissed and licked through the thin material.

"Alright," she told him in a hoarse voice, "Lie me back on the bed."

**I think there will be one more chapter after this. Please review if you have the time.**


End file.
